


It's How We Roll

by perclexed



Series: Happy Highways Where I Went [5]
Category: Lewis (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Coffee Related Flirting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen, Innuendo, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stress Baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4204146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perclexed/pseuds/perclexed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stress baking is apparently a thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, as always, to Tehomet, Medie and Tinzelda. Because they're amazing. Tehomet in particular deserves praise for this one, because without her Britpick this would be a much more confusing story. Any remaining mistakes are totally my fault.

Robbie actually opens the door again, leans out to check to make sure that yes, actually, this IS his flat, then cautiously closes the door and leans back against it.

The outside may look the same, but the inside… does not.

There are cakes and biscuits and pastries covering nearly every flat surface, as far as his eye can see. He knows James might call his use of that phrase hyperbole, but he’s not looking at the same thing Robbie is looking at. Speaking of James, he fumbles his phone out of his jacket pocket and texts his partner. “Need backup. My place. ASAP if you please.”

Half a dozen cakes cover the coffee table. Full size, beautifully decorated cakes. Iced buns march in cheerful lines across his bookshelves. There’s even a few neatly lined up on top of the television. Scones are sitting on platters he is pretty sure he doesn’t own on the floor. Monty is actually boxed in by neat lines of tarts in tiny, individual cups, and he peers up at Robbie with a mournful meow. “Save me,” that meow seems to say. 

Cautiously, he picks his way through the very narrow path that’s been left in the hallway from the door to the kitchen. He nearly puts his foot in what looks like an apple tart, based on what he can see through the beautiful lattice on the top. He nearly trips over three separate kinds of soda bread sitting on cooling racks, and catches himself with a hand on the wall before he falls into a vast sea of what looks like American-style muffins of some kind.

Biscuits are gathered in towering piles on the kitchen table. He’s a little afraid to actually walk into his kitchen, where he can hear a sort of demented humming issuing forth.

He’s pretty sure he’s gaining weight just by breathing the richly scented air in here.

Perhaps next time he ought not leave Darcy on her own for so long. The call about the latest suspicious death came in very early this morning, and it’s now after ten in the evening.

“Darcy? What’s going on?”

Darcy whirls around with a spatula in one hand and a piping bag in the other. “Robbie!” she cries. Taking a closer look at her face, he’s pretty sure his question is a valid one. “How was work?”

He’s speechless, taking in what he can see of her from where he stands. She’s wearing an apron with a picture of a rolling pin that says, “This is How I Roll”, but he’s not entirely sure it’s done a very good job of protecting her clothing. She’s covered in white powder, either flour or possibly icing sugar. There’s a blob of yellow in her hair that he fervently hopes is butter, and there are small bits of egg shell clinging to the side of her neck. Smears of chocolate decorate the skin of her arms like mad tribal tattoos.

It looks like a bomb has gone off in his kitchen, painting parts of the cabinets colours not normally found in nature. The stack of to-be-washed baking tools has overflowed the sink. Robbie’s absolutely sure he doesn’t actually own a huge, professional-looking stand mixer, let alone two of them. He knows he doesn’t own all those baking tins, the measuring spoons, and sundry other tools he can see littering the countertops. He also didn’t know that sugar came in so many colours.

“Are you high?”

Darcy manages to look highly offended and more than a little sheepish at the same time. “Does an epic, absolutely _epic_ , sugar high count?” The buzzer on his oven sounds absolutely exhausted, but Darcy bounces over and removes two pans of brownies anyway. She neatly sets them on top of trivets he also doesn’t recall having in his possession, and slides what looks like two pans of jam drops into the oven in their place after checking to make sure the temperature is correct. 

There’s a line of eclairs waiting to be filled in front of her, and Darcy bounces over towards them, picking up another pastry bag and a bowl of something creamy on the way. 

Robbie’s a little concerned about all the bouncing. 

His phone buzzes urgently. “Yeah, Lewis.”

“Sir! Did you say you needed backup?”

“Yes, and quickly please. It’s… not an emergency. I think?”

“That certainly inspires confidence, sir. I’m on my way. Three minutes out.”

“Be careful when you come in. And for god’s sake tell me you don’t have the light on.”

“I don’t have the light on.” 

Robbie sighs at the perfectly level tone James is using, which means he absolutely has the light on and probably has since he tore out of his flat on the way to Robbie’s. Well, maybe some of those raspberry tarts he can see out of the corner of his eye will sweeten Innocent’s temper should that little bit of news get back to her.

“Smartarse.” Robbie hangs up and contemplates the young woman in front of him. “Darcy?”

“Hmm?” In the short time he’s been on the phone, she’s filled the pastry bag with the creamy filling and is currently stabbing the eclairs in a manner that makes him wince. It’s actually kind of hypnotic, watching as she quickly and efficiently injects the pastries, humming all the while. She’s reaching for a flat bowl filled with what looks like a chocolate icing when he prompts her again.

“Darcy? What brought on all of this?” Robbie asks.

“Oh. I got bored. And I always feel better when I’m making food, and for some reason I really felt like baking. So I went out and got some stuff, and when I figured out I was missing some other stuff I called in an order to one of the local stores and they were more than happy to bring what I needed by when I promised the most outrageous tip if they’d help me out.” Darcy’s been picking up the newly filled eclairs and has been dipping the tops into the chocolate frosting and setting them to dry on a rack. Robbie’s just glad that she remembered to slide a baking tray underneath the rack to catch the drips.

“Some stuff. This looks like a little bit more than ‘some’ stuff.”

Darcy actually turns to blink at him. “Is it? I feel like I just got started. What time is it?”

A firm knock on the door prompts Robbie to call out, “It’s open!” James wastes no time opening the door, but Robbie can’t quite smother a smile when he hears his partner’s footsteps come to an abrupt halt as soon as he steps inside.

“Sir? Did you decide to enter the Great British Bake Off and not tell me?”

Robbie rolls his eyes at his sergeant, and turns back to his cousin. Who is idly squirting the remains of the filling in the pastry bag directly into her mouth as she surveys the countertop.

“Very funny.” Robbie widens his eyes at James, who shakes his head back. Right. Not much to go on.

“Hey! Hathaway! When did you get here? Got a favourite cookie?” Darcy bounces over to a cookbook Robbie’s positive wasn’t in his flat before he left for work this morning. Also, it’s like watching Tigger, what with all that bouncing.

Robbie feels he makes a very poor Pooh, but Hathaway might give Eeyore a run for his money. Come to think of it, Innocent’s rather Kanga-ish at times too. Is it possible to get a sugar high just from breathing air in what’s essentially become a commercial bakery in a single day? Robbie shakes his head and turns his attention back to the scene unfolding in his kitchen.

“I’m sorry?” James is frowning at Darcy in confusion.

“Cookie. Favourite. Got one?”

“Snickerdoodles?” James says it slowly and carefully, like he’s not sure it’s the right name for the treat. 

“Oh! I haven’t made those yet. Good choice! I actually don’t need a recipe for that one.” Darcy actually pauses for a moment as sorrow washes across her face. “Those were my grandmother’s favourites too. Just for you, Hathaway, one batch of Grammy’s snickerdoodles, coming up.”

She whirls around to start gathering the ingredients for the recipe, but Robbie reaches out and gently takes the mixer paddle away from her. “Darcy, love. It’s late. You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble with the neighbours, what with the noise from the mixer and the oven timer going off and all that?” 

With exquisite timing, the piercing beep of the oven’s device rings through the flat, announcing that it’s time to remove the jam drops. Before Darcy can bounce back over there to pull them out, James plucks the oven mitts from her hands and goes to remove the treats, making sure to turn the oven off when he deals with the timer.

“Oh, yeah. I guess that is kind of loud.” She wrinkles her nose at him, adorably.

“And I’m not sure there’s actually any more space to cool another batch of biscuits. I mean, just look.” Robbie gently takes her by the shoulders and shuffles her towards the living room. Darcy blinks a few times at the scene.

“Ohhh. Huh. What time is it anyway? I guess I can see what you mean. Think anyone down at the station would eat some of this stuff? Or maybe there’s a shelter or something?” Darcy yawns so hard her jaw cracks and she blinks sleepily. “Wow, I’m so tired suddenly.”

Robbie can’t help but smile. “That’d be your sugar high crashing.”

“Hmm. Wow. Like really, really….” Her eyes flutter, and James steps up behind her right as she starts to slide to the floor, catching her before she can injure herself.

Robbie hurries to their side. “You’ve got to stop making women swoon in your presence, man.”

“Ha ha, sir. Very funny. Perhaps it’s your rapier wit that slays them.” James peers down at Darcy. “I think she’s actually just fallen asleep on her feet. Any chance you can clear us a path to the spare room?”

“I think I can manage that. Give me just a moment.” Robbie scoops up a couple of pies and manages to find a clear space on the counter. He ignores James humming what sounds like the theme from that American quiz show. What was it? Peril or Hazard or something. Ah! There’s space on the bar stools, so Robbie carefully balances two more pies and a couple of cooling racks full of biscuits on top of the seats. 

“If you can follow my lead, I think we can make it. One step at a time.” Robbie cocks an eyebrow at James, who nods and readjusts his peacefully dead to the world burden. “How’s the arm? Need me to take her?”

“It’s fine. She barely weighs anything. In fact, she’s actually quite petite. Any idea what caused all this?” James wonders aloud as they slowly make their way towards the spare room.

“If I had to guess, I’d say she’s still trying to work through Greenwich and being attacked here in Oxford.” Robbie sighs heavily. “She did mention when she was here last that cooking helped when she was stressed. We’ve been phoning pretty regularly, and she’ll send me an email at least once a day when work’s slow, but it’s not really been much of, well. Substance, if you know what I mean.”

“Stubborn and not prone to talking about her feelings easily?” James murmurs. “Now who does that remind me of? You must be related.”

Robbie huffs exasperatedly. “That’s enough out of you.”

James just smirks and motions with his chin. “Can you get the light on and the duvet turned back?”

Nodding, Robbie turns on a lamp and sighs when he sees the bed is also covered. Thankfully not with baked goods, but with packages. He does manage to shove enough of them to one side so he can turn the covers back, creating a space in which James can gently lay Darcy down.

Darcy, oblivious to everything, sighs and snuggles into the pillow. James quirks a smile at Robbie, smoothly removes her shoes, then pauses. “Er, should we take off anything else?” They stand and contemplate the wreck of her clothing. James starts turning pink, and Robbie isn’t all that comfortable with the idea of stripping a pretty young woman while she’s unaware of what’s going on.

“Maybe just the apron. I’d worry about it hurting her neck during the night.” James nods and gingerly reaches around to untie the strings at her waist. He frees some slack, then slides a hand under her head on the pillow long enough to gently raise it. Pulling the apron loop over her head, he manages to create a neat bundle, minimizing the amount of flour and other baking detritus dusting the sheet. James rises and covers her carefully with the duvet.

“There. You’ll definitely need to do laundry tomorrow, but that should keep her from strangling herself in her sleep.

“Easy enough. Let’s let her rest.” They turn to go, and Robbie kicks one of the bags he’d moved to the floor. “Ah, I think we’ll need these, actually.” Robbie holds up one of the packages. “Cake boxes.” 

James simply nods and gathers a few of the packages, then turns to make his way back down the hall to the kitchen. Robbie lingers just long enough to grab another couple himself, and leans over to smooth Darcy’s hair away from her face. He’s troubled by the dark circles he can see under her eyes, the tension in her brow that hasn’t eased much, even in slumber. He resolves to sit her down and tease out some of the issues that are obviously still bothering her. Maybe she’ll be ready to talk tomorrow.

Turning off the light, Robbie goes to pull the door closed when he nearly trips over Monty, who is determinedly making a beeline for the pillow next to Darcy’s head. “Daft cat,” Robbie whispers affectionately. He leaves the door open a crack and makes his way to the kitchen.

James has been busy boxing up the obviously cool baked goods. He’s made great headway on the coffee table, smoothly packing the tiny tarts away and obviously freeing Monty from his pastry prison. He’s labeling the box with much more painstaking handwriting than usual, and looks up when Robbie returns.

“I thought I’d take some of the more easily frozen items over to the church where my band rehearses? I think Father Connelly can probably find grateful recipients for a lot of this. I can stop by there on my way to work in the morning.”

“Good thinking. We can take the rest in to the station. That lot falls on free food like locusts. Save one of the pies for your priest though. Whichever one you think he’d like best.”

James nods, and they work companionably on packing most of the goodies away. A couple of the pies and a few racks of biscuits are still far too warm, but it doesn’t take too long for them to create rather large stacks of neatly labelled boxes. There’s even special ones for the muffins, to hold them more securely. Likely to keep them from tipping over or bashing into one another and ruining the fluffy swirls of icing on top. Darcy appears to have kept a list of nearly everything but the pies, so the men are able to label most of the items with a fair degree of accuracy.

“Sir? I’m not sure what this is.” James is peering down at two odd coloured pies. They have a mostly smooth, slightly glossy, brownish orange surface.

“Haven’t you seen a pie before? I could’ve sworn you packed at least a dozen away, man.”

“Very droll, sir. No, I mean I don’t know what kind of filling this is.” James looks thoughtful.

“Well, only one way to find out.” Robbie stands, stretching, and fetches plates and forks and a knife with which to cut the pie. “Beer?”

“Yes, please.” James plates a couple of small slices of the unknown pie and passes one to Robbie before opening his beer. “I doubt it’ll kill us, right? I mean, that dinner she made was fantastic.”

Robbie sighs wistfully. “Yeah, that was. She got in too late last night to make us anything to eat. Maybe tomorrow or the day after.”

“Well, let me know and I’ll make room in my schedule. Prost.” James holds out his glass.

“Prost.” They clink, drink, and sigh in pleasure. Then there’s a long pause as both men eye their plates uncertainly. “It’s not going to bite us. I mean, it’s dessert. I think. Oh, what’d you do with the meat pies?” Robbie looks around.

“In the fridge. Except for two steak and kidney, which are currently warming a bit in the oven. I haven’t had dinner and I doubt you had a chance to stop for anything based on what time you called me to rescue you.” James grins at his Robbie. “Well, it’s not going to eat itself, is it?”

“No. No it’s not.” Robbie takes a deep breath and tentatively tries a small bite. He hums, identifying cinnamon, and ginger, and maybe nutmeg? Something else too.

“It’s… weird. I mean, a good weird.” James looks thoughtful as he mouths his forkful.

“Like a kind of….” Robbie trails off. “I mean, it’s not bad. Texture’s a bit odd. I don’t think it’s fruit. It’s more like a vegetable. Like….”

“A sweet squash custard? Think it’s another Central American thing?” James pulls out his phone.

Robbie snorts. “Squash. _Marrows_. Oh for… it’s pumpkin pie, man!”

James’ eyebrows go up. “Really? You think so?

“Look it up on your phone. I’m sure of it. But I think there’s something missing.” Robbie tastes another forkful, and nods. 

“Well, based on what I’m reading, it’s often served with whipped cream or vanilla ice cream.” James stands and goes to rummage in the fridge. “Ah, I think maybe this is what we’re looking for.” He holds up a bowl of a fluffy, thick white substance. Grabbing a spoon, he plops a generous scoop over his pie and offers Robbie the bowl.

Robbie takes a somewhat smaller dollop and forks up another bite. “Hmm. That’s quite nice, actually. Kind of a spiced, eggy custard.”

James nods, mouth full. Robbie can’t help but smile, as the lad’s managed to somehow get a dot of whipped cream on the end of his nose. Like that day with his overly foamy cappuccino in the outdoor cafe.

“What?” James is eyeing him curiously.

“Nothing, nothing. Just trying to decide whether this lives up to all the hype.”

“I rather like it. Not so sweet as some things, but rich. I like the spices too.” James must be hungry, as he’s down to his last bite already. “I could swear I tasted a bit of maple. Like maple syrup? Did you get that?”

“Aye. There’s something else I can’t quite pin down, but I think I like it too.” Robbie scrapes up the last of his small slice as well. “I can see how that would be quite nice after a big turkey dinner with all the trimmings.”

“Agreed. Want another piece?”

“Yes please, though I think we’d better get something in our bellies besides sugar and beer.” Robbie rises to pull the warmed meat pies from the oven and serves one for each of them on two new plates. “Want a salad to go with? I think I’ve got enough vegetables.”

“Think I’ll skip it for tonight, sir, if you don’t mind. This will be plenty.”

A few minutes of silence pass, broken only by the clink of cutlery and satisfied grunts. “Damn. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but are you sure you can’t have her come to stay and cook for you more often?” James leans back and rubs his stomach. “I think that puff pastry was homemade.”

“Beats what we’d get down at the pub, that’s for sure. And I’d love to have her here more often, but I think she’s meant for things greater than being our cook. Do you want to go up against Doctor Foster, when we tell her we’re kidnapping Darcy on account of her flaky pastry?” Robbie can’t help but smile at the thought of James facing off against the plucky astrophysicist. He’d probably have as much success as he would against Darcy herself. 

In other words, not much success at all.

“I like my bits where they are, thanks.” James has obviously come to a similar conclusion, and Robbie only just prevents himself from laughing out loud when James crosses his legs defensively. Another moment of companionable silence, and then, “Did you get anything out of her? About what prompted this very impressive baking spree?”

“Nothing. I could barely get her to concentrate long enough to realize I was trying to talk to her. Maybe over breakfast tomorrow. I can threaten to withhold the coffee unless she talks.” Robbie was simply thinking out loud, but now that he’s said it he’s fairly sure that this will be an effective strategy to get Darcy to talk. Give her just enough to get her semi-conscious and then go in for the kill.

James whistles low and slow. “Risky, sir. Make sure you hide all the sharp and pointy things, not to mention her taser, before you try it. Oh, and the instant coffee too.” He nods thoughtfully. “I think it could work though. Do you want backup? Now that we can see the couch again I can kip here for the night. It’s not like I haven’t slept on it many times before you moved into this place and got the spare bed set up.”

Robbie smiles, touched by the offer, and amused by the absurdity of needing backup to face one coffee-deprived young woman. “I’m family, so I doubt she’ll go so far as to zap me. You, on the other hand, I’m not so sure about. Willing to bet she’s fond enough of you to not take her frustration out on your hide?”

James contemplates this for a moment. “Right, I’m off.” Robbie loses his battle against laughter and ends up leaning against his partner, overcome by mirth. He can feel James chuckling too, even if he can’t hear him. Once he’s recovered, James stands and offers a hand up. “Help me carry some of these boxes out to the car?”

“Yeah. Feel free to sleep in. I think we can get a late start in the morning, considering all the hours we put in on this one. I’ll email Innocent and let her know.” Robbie yawns and indulges in a huge, satisfying stretch. “I’ll throw in a line about bringing in some raspberry tarts for her and I think we’ll be forgiven.”

“Well, let me know how it goes. This seems, well, a bit excessive.” James is frowning at the stacks of boxes.

Robbie regards his partner fondly. Darcy and James didn’t exactly get off on the right foot, but they seem to have come to some sort of equilibrium. He’s resigned to her very American personality and endures her teasing with a certain stoicism, and she’s mostly come to terms with being unable to break through his British reserve. Not that it’s stopped her from trying. She’d confided that she takes an ‘unholy amount of glee’ in making his awkward sod turn a delightful shade of pink at every possible opportunity. Robbie hasn’t told her that he enjoys her efforts to make James blush nearly as much as she does. It’s nice to see James acting just a bit closer to his physical age instead of his mental one, every now and then.

“I think she’ll probably only talk if it’s just me, but knowing her, she’ll insist on making us lunch as an apology.”

“Oh no, however will I manage to deal with more delicious food I didn’t have to make myself.” No one does deadpan quite like James Hathaway.

“I’ll call or text you once I’ve managed to get her to talk.” Robbie starts gathering his own stack of boxes. “Oh, good idea about the string on these, by the way. Makes it loads easier to carry them.” James had had the bright idea of tying the boxes together to create bundles. Robbie slips his fingers under the strings holding half a dozen boxes of biscuits together, testing the weight. He wouldn’t want to walk for miles like this, but it’ll get them out to the car.

“Good thing you had it in the kitchen.” James has his own set of boxes dangling from his fingers, which leaves him unable to smother his own huge yawn. Robbie probably shouldn’t find that so endearing, but, well. It’s late. Perhaps he can be forgiven. “Shall we?”

Robbie gets the door open and follows his partner out into the night, smiling at this latest ridiculous episode in a life made much more full since one young woman crashed into it at full throttle. “We shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this back in April, when I was absolutely craving pumpkin pie for some reason. I don't think that's something often consumed by those in Britain, and the two ideas sort of got tangled up and here we are.


	2. Chapter 2

“Good morning.” Robbie can’t help the broad grin that he can feel taking over his face at the sight of Darcy, looking even more dishevelled than she did when she literally fell asleep on her feet last night, finally shuffles into the kitchen.

“Why do I feel like I got hit by a truck? And what the hell is in my _hair_?” Her voice is a rasp that sounds like it hurts.

Robbie frowns. “Well, take a look at the kitchen, and you might have an answer to both those questions. While you do that, here.” Robbie gently presses a mug of coffee into her hand. She smiles at him, then turns to survey the kitchen.

“Holy fuck. Robbie, I’m so sorry. What a mess!” Darcy looks very distressed, the smile melting right off her face, and Robbie can’t help but reach out and cup her cheek.

“Shh. No harm done. There’s a lot of tasty food that’ll brighten quite a few people’s day, and it’s nothing that a good clean won’t fix.” 

She doesn’t look convinced. 

“I bet you’ll feel better after a shower. Go on and do that, and I’ll start on the dishes. And then, young lady, we need to sit down and have a chat.”

Darcy actually physically flinches, but nods silently and retreats without a word. Robbie just gazes after her, wondering what he said to provoke such a reaction.

He settles in on the couch, pondering his approach. Based on her reaction, he can’t help but feel that there’s definitely something that’s gone awry in her life. What on earth is going on with her?

He doesn’t have to wait very long before she shuffles back out to the living room in pyjama bottoms and a worn T-shirt. Her wet hair is wrapped in one of those towel turban things all women seem to know how to make, and without any makeup on whatsoever, he can see the dark circles that were visible under her eyes last night are even worse now. She looks very vulnerable and very young. 

He holds out an arm and she tucks herself in right along his side, sighing. He gathers her close, and says quietly, “What’s wrong, pet?”

She’s quiet for a bit, fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her clothing. “I’m not sleeping very well.”

“Is this new?” Robbie strokes her shoulder soothingly.

“No. No, it’s not new at all. I’d had some trouble before the Convergence, given all the problems we were having with funding, and just trying to keep our merry little band of misfits fighting fit.” Another pause. “And then of course the Convergence, which was kind of ridiculous. Though it wasn’t all bad,” and here she peeks through her lashes at him. He’s charmed, but that’s not going to stop him from getting some answers.

“Aye. Nothing like meeting over the crumbling remains of one of England’s World Heritage sites.” That gets a chuckle out of both of them.

“And then the whole thing with Ian. That’s bothering me more, because….”

“It seemed personal?” 

“Maybe that’s it. It was personal. They were after me, and we still don’t really know who ‘they’ are,” she says, quietly. “Ian died. I’ve still got Hawkeye as a personal minder, though we’re starting to rotate a few trusted people through the roster now. It’s probably not going to be all that long before SHIELD recalls him to do whatever it is he does when he’s not actively Avenging, right?”

Robbie sighs. “I wouldn’t presume to have the faintest idea.”

Darcy nods. “Oh, and I have daily sessions with Black Widow on personal defense. Which is really more like evasion and how to gracefully run away without screaming, because screaming provides a point of reference for talented people to be able to locate and shoot you, with a bit of ‘this is how you punch someone without breaking your hand’ thrown in for good measure.” She stops and scrunches her nose up, perturbed. “I now know a whole whack of places on the human body to poke, punch, stab, stomp, elbow, headbutt and you know what? Whatever you think you know about how to injure someone with your average office supplies, I tell you right now. You know nothing.”

She pulls back just far enough to look him in the eye. He notes that hers have gone a bit wild around the edges. “Seriously, Robbie. I will never look at a ballpoint pen the same way ever again. And I _hate_ it.”

Robbie doesn’t actually have much to add to that, for two reasons. One, he really doesn’t want to know, and he’s been a copper for over forty years now, seeing the worst people do to one another. He has plenty of nightmare fodder without adding the office supplies to them. And two, she’s talking again and he doesn’t want to interrupt her flow. He just keeps up what he hopes is a soothing, gentle stroking of her arm. It seems to be helping her get this off her chest.

“And all that is really scary. Natasha’s treating it very matter of factly, which is somehow even more chilling than if she’d been trying to make it dramatic and terrifying. This is my life now. Even if I wanted to, I can’t go back to how it was before. Even if someone were to come along and offer me the blue pill and I took it, I’d still be a target because someone will always think I know more than I really do.”

“Blue pill? The Matrix?” Robbie isn’t completely confident that he knows what she’s talking about, but she gasps in delight and turns to look at him again.

“Look at you! Pop culture reference win!” She actually holds out a fist and he rolls his eyes, but bumps it with his own. She sobers quickly though.

“But believe it or not, knowing how to severely maim someone with a standard size paper clip isn’t the thing that’s bothering me the most.” Here she turns and buries her face in his chest. The move dislodges the towel on her head, and between the fact that her face is obscured by the towel and the distracting feeling of cold, wet curls slithering down the side of his neck, he’s missed whatever it is she’s said.

“Sorry, pet. What was that?” He shivers, a bit, because that’s a lot of wet hair suddenly strewn about, and it feels like most of it has landed in the crook of his neck.

Darcy sits up a bit, and mumbles a little more clearly. “I don’t know what it is I’m still doing here.”

“What?” He’s unprepared for the spike of alarm that goes through him at the thought of her leaving, and unconsciously gathers her closer, cold and wet hair be damned.

She sighs, and takes a moment to wrangle her curls back into their cotton prison. “Thor and Jane left to visit New York a few days ago. It wasn’t until I was alone in my house with a pair of master spysassins that it really came home to me.”

Robbie shakes his head. “I don’t quite follow.”

“We’ve spent the past couple of months meeting with some of the best scientists on the planet. Literally. They’ve all been flocking to Cambridge and begging for the merest crumbs of time Jane can spare. She’s talking to people like Stephen Hawking every single day. There’s not enough space on the walls of the room they’ve given her to lecture and hold meetings in to hold all the degree certificates that these people have.

“We’ve developed a sort of litmus test. Those that treat me like shit when I say I’m not actually an astrophysicist, but am in fact a political scientist? They immediately get the boot.”

“As well they should,” Robbie says. Academics. The same the world over. The Oxford toffs seem particularly bad but he imagines it’s the same story at any institution of higher learning around the globe.

“And that’s been really useful, actually. Before we started doing it that way, quite a few douchebags got in and just wanted to argue their own theories with her. Those types are the ones who aren’t there to listen or learn, they want to make sure she knows they feel she’s got feet of clay and her boyfriend isn’t the only one carrying a big hammer.”

She sighs. “A few still slip through the net, but she’s finally spending more time talking to people who want to freely exchange ideas and learn from one another than dealing with assholes who think because she’s beautiful, and a woman she must not know anything.

“And I’m fucking _ecstatic_ for her. This is what she’s been working towards her whole life. She’s got data to back up her theories, she’s got a whole new set of theories to start spinning up and, literally, _whole new worlds_ to explore in terms of scientific theory. She’s finally getting the respect she deserves from her peers. She’s going to be advancing Midgard’s scientific knowledge base in ways no one has since, fuck, probably Einstein’s day.

“Not very long from now, people are going to be saying the name ‘Jane Foster’ the same way they say ‘Albert Einstein’. And that just fucking blows my mind.”

Darcy takes a deep breath, and her voice isn’t nearly as strong when she says, “And she’s outgrown me. She’s gone so far past where I am of any actual use to her or her work. Thor’s here now, and she’s far more willing to shower and eat for him than she ever was for me.” 

Robbie frowns, his copper senses tingling at this bit. There’s more than meets the eye in that statement. He’d bet his pension on it.

“And there are literally flocks of people who hold doctorates in hard sciences who are pleading to be one of the people who does her data entry.

“What can I possibly offer in comparison to that?”

Now that’s just not on. “Yourself, Darcy. Do you think you’ve been together this long because you do her data entry? Honestly, now.” Robbie doesn’t know much about the history of the two women, but he knows what he saw on Doctor Foster’s face when Darcy was lying in a hospital bed having the bullet crease on her scalp stitched shut. And it wasn’t simple concern for an employee. It was the face of someone who’d nearly lost her sister.

He watches Darcy as she opens her mouth to speak, then closes it again without saying anything. She does this a few times, and finally huffs in frustration. “I know we’re friends. But I also know she’s been frustrated with my lack of hard sciences background on more than one occasion. She’s needed someone to bounce ideas off of who can actually follow her twistier equations and really grok her technobabble. It’s great when Erik is there, but. Well. You know how he’s really not been there mentally even when he’s been there physically. They seem to be back on track and pretty copacetic again, which I’m really pleased to see.

“And now we’re supported by Stark, and someone on their end is basically handling all the budgeting. Jane’s got a driver, who was picked personally by Pepper, so while the woman looks completely unassuming she can probably kill with her pinky or has laser eyesight or something.”

“Basically, I just feel kind of uncomfortable sitting around being a paid companion. It makes me feel like a ladies maid, or possibly a mid-level escort, and neither is a good feeling for me. Comic relief is all well and good, but it’s not really a full time gig, if you see what I mean.” She sighs, heavily, and brings her knees up so she can wrap her arms around them, curling into a tight little ball on the couch.

“What do you want to do? I mean, you have a degree, right? Political science? What did you want to do before you fell into cahoots with Doctor Foster?”

“Probably work for the US government in some capacity, but after having been involved with just the edges of SHIELD in New Mexico, I don’t think that’s a good idea now.”

He tries again. “SHIELD itself?”

She snorts. “Yeah, _no_. Not that I couldn’t rock the navy blue catsuit they’ve got going on with some of the agents, I continue to get all kinds of really, really bad vibes outta that place.”

“Stark Industries?” Robbie could swear she’d said something along the lines of Ms Potts offering her a job at one point.

Darcy nods, slowly. “It’s an option for sure. But it would probably mean moving to New York permanently, and I’m not really sure I want to do that just yet. Pepper said she’d feel better if all her Avengers ducklings were within reach, but I don’t know if I’m really in the right frame of mind to dive headlong into corporate work. I know she’s working hard to turn the course of the company away from the military-industrial complex into bio-med and green solutions, but it’s got a long way to go. And it is, of course, for-profit.

“I sound like I’m scornful of that, but believe me, I know where my Louboutins come from.”

He clears his throat and offers something he’s been thinking for the past little while. “You could stay here, in Oxford. Get a graduate degree? Politics and International Relations, like. Or there’s a whole Public Policy degree.” She lifts her head from his shoulder and turns to look at him. “Pretty sure there’s something in International Development as well, which combined with the politics base you already have could maybe help Stark Industries and Ms Potts start making a real difference in places that aren’t considered first world.”

He smiles down at her. “Doctor Lewis sounds pretty good, don’t you think?”

She looks stunned. Has she honestly not considered the possibility? “I… I don’t even know if I’d meet the entrance requirements.”

“I have little doubt you would, but I’m fairly certain that your references are impeccable. A recommendation from the soon to be world renowned Doctor Jane Foster might have a bit of weight. You can’t honestly believe Ms Potts wouldn’t jump at the chance to help you land somewhere you’d be happy.” He nods at her, encouragingly. “If you need a character reference I’m pretty sure no one is going to argue with Thor’s view of his ‘Little Lightning Sister’. And I’m sure there are plenty of other people that you’ve worked with along the way who would be happy to supply you with whatever you need to get in.”

“But how would I… I mean, isn’t it expensive?” Darcy’s blinking, a bit dazed, but he can practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes.

“It’s not the cheapest thing going, but you’ve probably already spent a term’s cost on all those pairs of shoes you’ve gotten recently. Didn’t she say you had no spending limit? You could buy real estate if you needed to, and her only request was that you let her know so she could find someone to help? You know Ms Potts wouldn’t even blink at the idea of you putting your entire post-grad education on that fancy black credit card. Especially if you framed it as an investment in a possible future with Stark.” Robbie’s talking fast, but he can see he’s beginning to get through to her.

“And even in the unlikely event that Ms Potts would say no, surely Thor would be more than happy to, I dunno. Bring a bag of gold Asgardian coin or some sort of necklace with a jewel the size of a hen’s egg or something like to the nearest HSBC and haggle out a nice exchange rate.” Good, she’s giggling now.

“Worst case, if going back to school is something you find you really want to do, well.” He takes a deep breath, but forges ahead. “I will help you.”

Her breath hitches as her eyes fill with tears. “Robbie,” she breathes, overwhelmed.

His voice is a bit rough. “Might have to find a bigger flat, or maybe a small house, and you’d definitely be in charge of cooking duties. No freeloading here, mind. I keep odd hours, what with me job, and I come with me own snarky sidekick. So if you were thinkin’ you could ease into that position, I’m afraid I have to inform you that it’s already been filled.”

She’s beginning to smile, lighting up from the inside. “I suppose there’s no built in shoe budget either.”

“Alas, no. You might have to get a job on the side if you want to keep feeding your designer stiletto habit.” Robbie’s relaxing now.

Darcy uncurls enough to get an arm around his middle, squeezing tight. “I couldn’t possibly let you do it, given how close you are to retirement. But it means the world to me that you would offer.”

“It’s not just my salary. Morse left me a third of his estate, and with the sale of the house after Val died, there’s quite a bit just sitting in an account, accruing interest. There’s accounts for our Lyn and Mark that I set up with Val’s life insurance, and I recently split a bit off to start a fund for my grandson, but otherwise I’ve left it untouched.” He pauses, but goes ahead and says it anyway. “I made provisions for James in my will too, but that’s a worst case scenario. There’s a nice amount in those accounts. I’d be honored to use them to help you if this is the path you choose to take.”

She stretches up to place a lingering kiss on his cheek and captures his hand for a squeeze. “I honestly think you’d have to throw down with Pepper and Thor for the right to pay my tuition, and while I could probably sell tickets to that event and make enough to keep myself in shoes forever, I don’t think it’ll be necessary. But that’s just about the nicest thing anyone has offered me in a long time, Robbie. Thank you.”

Robbie reaches up to scratch at the back of his head with his free hand, a bit embarrassed by her gratitude. She’s family, after all. Like he wouldn’t do what he could to help her make her dreams reality.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, pondering the various paths they’ve outlined during their heart-to-heart.

“So, to recap.” She sniffs, clears her throat, wipes her eyes, and ticks the points off on the fingers of the hand not currently clinging to Robbie’s. “I’m on someone’s most wanted list, and we still don’t know who wants to pick my brain about Jane’s research. I’m learning new and creative ways to maim people without my trusty taser, which is not something I ever really aspired to. I feel like my best friend is slipping away from me faster than a greased pig at the county fair. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with my life, which is now full of aliens and superheroes. But I may have the opportunity to either transition into big business at Stark, or exercise the time honored tradition of retreating from the real world into academia, which is honestly not something I had even considered to date.”

“Better?” He peers down into her face.

“Better. Any of those paths would probably take a few months to implement. I told Pepper before, and I still think it’s true — I can’t abandon Jane just now. Any transition of me out of her team, such as it’s been, would probably take at least a couple of months. I mean, it’ll easily take at least a month to argue her into submission about having actual science people backing her up now that she is totally hot shit in the science world.” Darcy’s nodding, obviously plotting out strategies she might use to convince Doctor Foster that it is, in fact, in her best interest to start taking advantage of some of the help that’s being offered.

“So no more baking marathons?” Robbie queries, gently. “Want to tell me what set that off?”

Darcy looks a little sheepish. “There’s just all this destruction, and deceit, and _death_ going on around me. I woke up when you got the call out, and couldn’t go back to sleep, and I just really, really wanted a blueberry muffin for breakfast. My kind of blueberry muffin. Completely oversized, top crusted with sugar, warm from the oven and butter melting all over it once I split it open. Basically like a pillow of sweet delight in my mouth. Which no one sells ready made, so I got up and started investigating your kitchen, and, well.”

“The rest is history?” Robbie’s concerned. That’s nearly eighteen hours of baking, even with an initial trip to the Tesco’s that’s open all night.

“It was good to have something to concentrate on. And it was nice to create something that would, I dunno. Bring a smile to someone’s face or give them something they could eat on the go. I gather you and James have skipped more than one meal during your work day, or come home and been to tired to make anything. I started out with the idea of making a few things you and he could put in the freezer. And kept thinking of other things to make, and I lost track of the time and then you were home and apparently it was late?”

“After ten at night, pet.” 

Robbie watches as comprehension dawns. “Ohhhhh,” Darcy says. “No wonder I fell asleep. I did fall asleep, right? I… I didn’t actually swoon at Hathaway?”

“He didn’t even have to break out the smelling salts he keeps in his work jacket.” Robbie smiles as he remembers their very first case together.

“Shut the front door. Actual honest-to-god smelling salts? Hold on, I gotta pee and put my hair up and then you can tell me that story.” Darcy plants another kiss on his cheek and while she doesn’t quite bounce to the bathroom, she does have a lot more energy in her step than she did when she first trudged out of the bedroom this morning.

Robbie takes the opportunity to text James the all clear, and to stand and stretch himself. It is still a work day, and while it’s not yet noon he should probably think about getting a move on. Get some coffee going, see if he can persuade Darcy to make bacon and eggs for breakfast? He had no qualms whatsoever about stocking his freezer with a generous portion of Darcy’s goodies, though he’s glad he sent Hathaway home with a significant number of them last night. He’s already tucked most of the remaining boxes that he’s taking to the station in the car, though he’s placed the tarts he kept aside for Innocent by the door so he won’t forget them. He’s also left a nice selection out on the table for snacking.

Lyn had been highly amused when he’d sent a picture of everything to her before he’d packed it all away. “Can we kidnap her for Christmas? You know I’m terrible with making the pudding,” had been her texted response. Not a bad idea, that. He would like Darcy to meet his daughter, and James had yet to meet Lyn and she’s known about him for years. High time he got all the family in the area together. Might not even wait for the end of the year. He’ll have to float the idea with James, and if he agrees maybe put in their requests for time off over the next bank weekend.

Darcy proves amenable to making breakfast once she returns, and there’s bacon sizzling away on the hob in short order while Robbie shares in the labour by slicing up some fresh vegetables for the omelettes. She’s just sat down to butter a scone for a quick nibble when there’s a firm knock at the door. 

Hathaway enters, wearing his usual suit and tie, and carrying a take out tray with four coffee cups. “I took the liberty of getting a triple espresso _and_ a triple shot latte for the lady.” He sets the tray down on the breakfast bar and sheds his jacket, slinging it over the back of the chair.

Darcy springs to her feet and pads rapidly towards her treats. “You, Hathaway, really know how to rev a lady’s engine. You can talk dirty to me anytime.”

Robbie can’t stifle the snort of laughter at the absolutely brilliant shade of red his sergeant turns at this comment. Darcy just looks at Robbie out of the corner of her eye and winks.

James clears his throat, and does his best to ignore his own blush. “La vostra signora espresso tripla.” He presents the smaller cup with a flourish, determined not to let her get one up on him this morning.

Darcy’s breath hitches and her eyes go wide. Robbie leans in, squinting. Yes, that is a flush spreading over her cheeks and further south. She reaches for one of the cups with a hand that’s trembling, just a bit.

James, excellent detective that he is, narrows his eyes and bit and raises an eyebrow. Oh dear, she’s gone and intrigued him. “Perché, signorina Lewis, io credo che ho inciampato su qualcosa di molto interessante.” Holy hell. That’s not even James’ ‘Love Lines’ voice. That deep, low rumble that invites intimacies of all kinds is something entirely new. Robbie suppresses an impulse to clear his throat.

James steps closer to Darcy. “Ist das alles Italienisch oder mischst du Deutsch rein?”

Robbie bites his lip to keep from laughing out loud as Darcy stubbornly stands her ground, chin coming up to stare a challenge right into James’ eyes, but her breathing is rapid.

“Ta réaction au français me rend curieux.” James leans down so they’re nearly nose to nose as he quietly says some phrase in French. Darcy refuses to back down, swallows heavily, and blushes harder. Her T-shirt has a deep scoop neckline and he and James can both see that the flush has spread to her collarbones. 

Darcy narrows her eyes at James, but he simply steps close enough so that they’re nearly pressed together, tilts his head to the side and murmurs with lips close her ear, “Apuesto a que va a romper si digo algo en la forma correcta en español.”

“Excuse me!” Darcy squeaks, turns nearly as red as James himself did earlier, and hurries to the bathroom, door slamming closed behind her. Robbie can hear water splashing in the sink. He could do with a bit of a cold splash of water himself.

“Coffee, sir?” James, innocence personified, holds out one of the cups to him, but there’s a very satisfied smirk tilting the corners of his mouth. A devilish gleam in his eyes also betrays his enjoyment for getting one up on Darcy in their running game of verbal jousting. Flirting. Whatever.

“Thanks. Now get to work on the omelettes, since you’ve managed to chase our cook out of the kitchen.”

“Sir, yes sir!” James actually clicks his heels together and reaches for the bowl of beaten eggs. “On a serious note though, did you get everything worked out?”

“Yeah. I’ll fill you in while we’re working on the paperwork.” Robbie’s pretty satisfied with how the day is going so far.

James leans in and murmurs in Robbie’s ear, using the same ridiculous voice he used on Darcy. “I look forward to it.”

“Ah! Go on wi’ ye.” Thankfully James has turned his back to have a rummage in the cupboard for another frying pan, so he misses the blush Robbie can feel on his own face. 

Right. Less sugar for all of them, starting now. Seems to be making everyone act just a little bit mad this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I have a Robbie of my own? I promise to treat him very nicely and buy all the pints.
> 
> Darcy has a bit of a language kink. If you’re wondering why Hathaway can suddenly speak a few phrases in four different languages? *handwaves* This is not the logic you are looking for. Just go with it.
> 
> Translations were done with the help of tumblr for French and German, and google translate for the others. So James might be saying something about replacing Monty’s litter for all I know. My apologies if it reads as gobbldygook to native speakers. If you do speak Italian or Spanish & want to correct those lines, drop a comment. I'd appreciate it!
> 
> Italian: _Your triple espresso, ma’am_ and _Why, Miss Lewis, I think I’ve stumbled onto something very interesting._  
>  German: _Is it only Italian, or maybe German too?_  
>  French: _I’m curious about your reaction to French._  
>  Spanish: _I bet you will break if I say something the right way in Spanish._


	3. Chapter 3

“Tea?” James asks, standing and stretching luxuriously. Robbie idly wonders if today will be the day that some of those buttons give up their fight to keep the lad’s shirt closed, but James manages to finish the stretch without any of the small plastic circles making a wild bid for freedom.

“Tea. I could do with a break meself.” It’s absolutely pouring outside when they both take a moment to peer out the closest window, and with a pair of matching sighs they both turn to head towards the break room.

They’re striding along in companionable silence, and Robbie’s got a hand on the door to push it open when they both stop dead at the sound of voices within. It’s not so much the voices themselves as it is what they’re saying.

“I can’t decide if I want to lick all around this first, or just shove the whole thing in my mouth.” James’ eyes go wide at Julie’s voice, heavy with desire.

“Well, you saw how I went at it.” Gurdip sounds sated and a little drunk with pleasure. 

“Yeah, you’re all shiny around your gob. How’d you get it that far up your face, anyway?” Julie outright giggles, and Robbie’s frowning heavily now even as James starts to pink up a bit.

“It just looked so good. All moist and tempting. I couldn’t help myself. I just sort of shoved my face right in there,” Gurdip replies, sounding not at all sorry.

“Well, at least you didn’t go at it as hard as Hooper did. I think he’s doing to need a bit of a kip before he heads back to his duties,” Julie says, knowingly.

“Yeah, that was really impressive. I wouldn’t have thought he’d be like that, given he’s got a wife who apparently keeps him well satisfied at home,” Gurdip replies.

“Oi, you lot. I’ll have you know she’s a treasure,” Hooper says and if Gurdip sounded drunk, Hooper sounds positively drugged. “No harm in looking and doing some sampling though.”

There’s a round of knowing laughter and Robbie’s had just about enough of this. With a nod to James, he shoves the door open so hard it bounces off the wall behind it. Luckily he’s got a hand up to stop it before the rebound smacks him right in the gob.

The gob which is open in disbelief as he sees a small crowd of people sitting around or leaning against the wall looking a bit comatose. He stopped so suddenly James runs right into his back, and there’s another round of good-natured giggles as they dance around making sure neither one trips and falls.

“Very dramatic, sir,” James drawls as he grips Robbie’s upper arms to steady himself. “You do know how to make an entrance.”

“Inspector, Sarge,” Hooper nods at them once they’ve sorted themselves. “Thanks for bringing in this lot,” he says, pointing to the boxes of treats Darcy’d stress-baked. All of the boxes are open and all have been heavily pilfered.

“Yes, sir!” Julie says enthusiastically where she’s reaching for another eclair. “I can’t help myself, they’re just so good. I think this is my third one today.”

“I don’t actually know what this cake is but it’s fantastic,” Gurdip says where he’s adding another slice to a plate. “The syrup makes it so moist, but it’s not at all too sweet. Whoever did this has a really deft hand.” He has crumbs clinging to his face all around his mouth where the syrup lingers after his enthusiastic attack on the dessert.

“Ah,” Robbie says, feeling himself flush a bit at all the effusive praise. Not because of the praise, like, but because of what he’d been thinking about the things he’d overheard. He furtively casts his eyes towards James, who’s eyeing him in much the same fashion and also biting his lip in an effort to contain a cheeky smirk.

“You were thinking it too, so don’t look too smug, Hathaway,” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth before he’s addressed by Hooper again.

“I don’t suppose either of you two have been keeping this particular talent under wraps, eh?” Hooper says, nodding towards the rapidly disappearing baked goods. “Because if so, I think a few people would like to have a word.”

James makes that mixed sound of disbelief and amusement that he’s only heard a few times, like the whole ‘top hat, no bra’ moment with Esme Ford. Robbie takes a moment to shoot his sergeant a glare that has absolutely no effect on him whatsoever, before turning back to Hooper.

“Ah. While I can’t speak for Hathaway, I can say that no, I don’t have any talent in that direction. I have a friend visiting, and she’s been doing some… how’d she put it? Stress baking.” Julie and a couple of the other women in the room nod understandingly.

Gurdip frowns at the boxes. “What kind of stress load is she under, to have done all this?”

Hathaway reaches out and pats the young tech on the back. “Trust me. You don’t want to know. I can say with a high degree of confidence born of understanding the circumstances that you do not want to know.”

Robbie nods along as James speaks. “Also, before anyone asks, no I won’t tell you. The lady, in this case, is entitled to her secrets.”

“I’m sure none of us would wish to upset her further, but do you think a marriage proposal would be out of bounds?” Hooper looks thoughtful.

“You’re already married,” Julie points out, gently.

“I take any of this lot home to the missus and I’m sure she’d agree to a divorce if she’ll keep us supplied with treats like this. Heck, if I’m not her type maybe my missus is,” Hooper muses.

“Sorry, Constable, but in this case I’m afraid I will happily pull rank and insist I get first dibs on Robbie’s friend.” Surprisingly, the voice of Jean Innocent rises from the back of the room where she’d been leaning against a wall and desultorily forking up mouthfuls from one of the apple tarts. “I would gladly, nay, happily leave Mr Innocent by the side of the road for the chance to win the hand of such a fair and wondrous baker,” she says, smiling at Robbie. “Surely as someone who knows the lady in question, you could give us an estimate on what she might consider a reasonable dowry in exchange for her formidable self?”

“A dowry ma’am? That’s usually a transfer of property and goods from the bride’s household to the groom’s, or, in our more modern times, possibly the other bride’s.” James looks thoughtful. “At any rate, I think the phrase you’re looking for is ‘bride price’,” he says and inhales to continue his explanation before trailing off at a pointed look from the Chief Super.

“Yes, thank you Hathaway. Bride price then, Robbie. Does she have a father we can speak to? Mother?” Innocent suddenly grins. “We could hold a bidding war here in the station. I have a feeling she’d make out quite well in the end.”

Robbie smiles. It’s not often Innocent is feeling playful enough to joke around in front of a whole cadre of the officers under her supervision, but apparently Darcy’s baking can in fact work miracles. “Not only is she well taken care of materially, ma’am, but I honestly think that her value and her worth are beyond price,” he says, not really thinking about what was coming out of his mouth.

Until a round of “awwwws” greets his remark, and he can’t even be ashamed of the heat he can feel in his cheeks. It’s nothing but the truth, after all.

“Ah. That kind of friend, is she sir?” Gurdip, always up for being cheeky, asks with a sly smile.

The sound of two mouthfuls of dessert being expelled at great velocity from two different people is quite loud in the sudden silence. Both James and Laura, who’d apparently come in while he was distracted, are being offered napkins and well meaning pats on the back by people standing near them. Both wave all their well wishers away between coughs.

“NO. Absolutely not, man!” Robbie exclaims, horrified. “It’s not like that at all!” 

“I don’t know, Robbie. She did say ‘all fifty states and Puerto Rico', remember?” Laura says, having recovered enough to offer him a bit of a leer and a saucy wink.

“Oh, is she an American then?” Innocent asks, eyebrows rising.

“Ah, go on with you,” Robbie says, unwilling to continue this conversation. “Or I’ll pack up that lot and leave it in a park for the pigeons,” he adds for emphasis, pointing at the boxes. 

“We’ll be good!” Julie exclaims with a grin.

“All right everyone. Fun’s over. Surely there’s crime to be solved?” Innocent asks, politely and with humour, but pointedly nonetheless. There’s a bit of a crush as people make a grab at the boxes before shuffling back to their desks. In a remarkably short time, the room is empty but for Innocent, Laura, James and himself.

“Honestly though, Robbie, if you can get the recipe for those tarts you dropped off on my desk this morning, I’d appreciate it. They’re amazing. Or,” she says with a pointed look at James, “perhaps something in _blue_ berry next time?”

James, completely unrepentant, merely smiles blandly at this thinly veiled reference to him using the ‘blues and twos’ to get to Robbie’s place last night, and agrees with Innocent. “Oh, absolutely. Actually, I believe a craving for blueberry muffins, American style, is what started this whole thing.”

Robbie has to bite his lip again in an effort to keep his own grin off his face. Laura, standing slightly behind Innocent, has no qualms about letting hers fly free at James’ cheek.

Innocent just rolls her eyes, grabs an iced bun and strides off, presumably to her office.

“Right. Why were we in here, again?” Robbie asks aloud.

“Tea, sir, though perhaps we should be looking into treatments for your encroaching memory loss,” James says, voice dripping with false sincerity.

“Oh leave off, man, and make us a cuppa?” Robbie says, exasperated. “Laura, if you’ve got time later today, maybe we can chat a bit about the lass and what we can do to help her get past all the stuff bothering her?”

Laura nods, agreeably. “Sure, Robbie, though my price for this consultation is, of course, an invite to one of Darcy’s marvelous meals. Pint later? James, you pick the place?”

“I’ll text her later and see if she’s up for tea tonight, actually. Thanks for the post-mortem results so quickly, by the way. There’s a bit of work still to be done on this case, so I’m not sure when we’ll actually wrap up for the night,” Robbie says. “Probably a bit early though, which gives us time for a pint before tea. We’ll give you a ring later and let you know where to meet us?” James nods as he hands Robbie a cup fixed to his preference.

“Sounds delightful. Later boys,” Laura says as she tucks a few more biscuits into a napkin and takes herself off to wherever she needs to be.

Robbie sighs as he contemplates the still fairly ridiculous amount of food left out on the tables, still a bit worried about what prompted Darcy to bake all of it in the first place. James silently passes him a paper plate, and they load up on a few more goodies before they too, head back to their office and the work that awaits.

“Any requests for a particular cuisine before I text Darcy?” Robbie asks his partner.

James purses his lips momentarily, before indicating the bounty he’s carrying. “Perhaps something light and healthful? It’s been a rather indulgent day, after all.”

“You’re not kidding,” Robbie mumbles around another jam drop as they slide into their chairs. “I’ll text her just that, and let her decide. If she’s not up to cooking, which wouldn’t be surprising given yesterday, we’ll find some takeaway that fits the bill. Now, seeing as I’m the magnanimous type, which report do you want to do?” He holds up two folders, one in each hand.

“Oh, definitely the one on the left, sir. I have a good feeling about that one,” James says smartly and reaches for the folder when Robbie holds it out.

“Have to take you to the track, next,” Robbie murmurs as he flips open the cover on his own folder and gets back down to work. 

He’s still concerned about Darcy, but he figures between his years as a father, Laura’s insights as a doctor, and James’ knack for observation and his often silent, but unwavering support, they’ll get the lass over this hump and back on track. 

“Because that’s how we roll,” he mouths to himself with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That moment in "Counter Culture Blues" that culminates in the whole 'top hat, no bra' comment? I love that. Whately played that so perfectly. You could totally see a young fanboy Robbie Lewis shining through the Inspector exterior. It was lovely.
> 
> This chapter is all the fault of Shadows_of_Shemai, who left a comment on the first chapter saying, “and is it awful if I want their whole office to fall in love with Darcy over her unexpected donation?” Thus this little post-script was born. I hope it suits!
> 
> Drop a comment if you liked it. Next story up soon!


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